


Hanging Tree

by yaknownyan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Different POV’s, Hunger Games, Hunger Games AU, In the beginning though, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, third person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 06:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13117956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaknownyan/pseuds/yaknownyan
Summary: A flamboyant man came along, bearing bright blue markings under his eyes with a matching tuxedo and an unflattering combination of salmon hair and moustache. He practically skipped up the steps, nonchalantly fixing his white cravat and sleeve cuffs before pulling out a small paper card from his pocket, leaning over the microphone, "Good afternoon, inhabitants of District 4!" His voice boomed over the speakers, a fancy accent thickly rolling on his tongue, "Welcome to the 74th Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!"





	1. Prologue - And May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance’s POV

Lance never considered himself a hero. 

Yes, his district was one of the top tiers in Panem. However, with its major industry being fishing, District 4 didn't need heroes. At least not until the Reaping.

Somehow, as if fate knew of his uselessness, Lance's name has never been picked for the Hunger Games. Not once, even though he has been eligible for six years now. Maybe it's for the best - he sure as hell isn't complaining. 

So when the day of the Reaping finally arrives, along with the funereal atmosphere it always brings to the inhabitants of the districts, Lance goes out for a swim. 

It is only reasonable that the fishing district is surrounded by water. This little island like area is the only place Lance has ever known, and he knows it's surroundings like the back of his hand. His sister joked about it, saying that even if he suddenly lost all his five senses, he would somehow manage to come back home safely.

 _She's right,_ he thought, zigzagging his way through the empty boats docked at the pier. As he passed by them, he quoted their names in the back of his head -  _Liberty, Victory, Serenity, Poseidon, Blue Lion..._

The latter was his absolute favourite. 

He finally arrived at the shore. District 4's seaside was far more different than the glamorous artificial beaches in the capital (not that Lance had ever been to one, but he had seen glimpses from the ads that popped up during the live streaming of the games), but during this time of the year, the weather only clarified the blatant contrast. For starters, the sand was thick and grey, identical to cement when wet. There were tall vegetation growing from the ground here and there, which ricocheted against the violent wind that pushed the current forward in powerful, rocking motions. The water was the most, if not only, similar feature between them - it was a deep, prussian blue with sparkling white foam at the tips of it's waves. 

Although the air was warm and stuffed, the sea was high and agitated. Lance decided it was better not to risk it, and simply walked towards the waterfront, feeling the water move against his feet. The sand that trickled between his toes when the tide pulled was therapeutic, and exactly what he needed today. He looked up, gazing longingly at the blue horizon.

It was so easy to just... run away.

He wished he had the courage in him to do that.

-

At 12 pm, he headed back to the cabin.

The cabin was a small wooden house in the east of District 4 that he shared with his siblings, his nephews, and his nieces. It would actually be considered a big place, if it wasn't for the big number of people living in it. Lance had a shared bedroom, and including it, there were 4 other rooms in the house; the kitchen, the bathroom, and another bedroom used by his older siblings. 

The door creaked when he opened it, and so did the floor as he came in. The house, which was usually loud with cheerful chatter, seemed almost deserted (it always did during this time of the year). The only sign of inhabitants was the familiar smell of fish soup coming from the kitchen, along with the sound of water boiling and steam coming out from kettles. He followed the aroma, finding his eldest sister, Veronica, working behind the stove with her back towards him. She had dressed up specially for the Reaping, choosing to wear their mother's white frilly dress and her hair up in a tidy pinned bun. She hummed quietly to herself, to a tune Lance instantly recognised as an old lullaby he last heard a long time ago, and impatiently tapped her fingers on the counter. Lance knocked on the open door, so not to startle her, and she turned around, sighing in relief upon seeing him. He slowly opened his arms as he walked up to her, and she accepted his hug, burying her face on his shoulder.

"You have to get ready!" Veronica said when he let go, "I am not letting you go to the Reaping in hoodie and jeans."

Lance chuckled, "Right. Hey, have you seen Leo and Jake?"

She noticeably tensed up, but brushed it off, "In your room with Mari." She returned to the stove, "Tell them to come here. Food's ready."

Sure enough, his nephews were sat on the bed, already dressed up and ready.  However, they were as silent as the house, quietly murmuring between themselves and nervously fidgeting. They seemingly ignored Lance, even as he walked into the room without warning. 

Leo and Jake were Veronica's twin sons, both 12 and now able to take part in the games. As a mother, she had been dreading this day ever since they were born, so it was only natural to be nervous. Lance was there to help her as much as he could, but he could not protect them from the reaping. 

Reaping clothes were laid out on top of the cupboard; a light blue button up shirt, along with white trousers and brown derby shoes. He picked them up and went to the bathroom to put them on, hesitantly peeking at his own reflection on the mirror as he finished buttoning up his collar. After unsuccessfully trying to flatten his hair using water, he went back to the room. The twins had now ceased all talking. He sighed and sat down on the floor next to little Mari, who playing with the hem of Jake's trousers, babbling happy nonsense as she reached her arms out for uncle Lance to pick her up.

"Today is the day." He broke the silence, giving the baby a few pats on her back. She burped in response.

"I'm scared." Leo said at last, his voice a hushed whisper. 

Lance frowned, and used his free hand to ruffle his hair, "Hey, little guy. It's going to be okay."

"But what if they pick my name? Or Jake's?" He looked back and forth between Lance and his brother, "What will happen then?"

"I would volunteer in a heartbeat." Lance said immediately. Jake's eyes widened.

"And what if they pick your name?" He asked, wearily.

Lance did not answer that.

-

They walked to the main square in silence. 

When Lance was little, he used to pretend the short stroll from the cabin to the square during the Reaping was actually a nice family walk. However, it's pretty hard to ignore the rows of cameras from every corner of the path, like vultures, anxiously anticipating an unfortunate incident to report back to the viewers at the Capitol. As if they wouldn't get enough tragedies from the game itself. He felt like he was being closely watched when Jake's hand tightly wrapped around his.

They signed in, and then parted ways to line up with their age groups. At some point, he spotted Marco and Luis, his brothers, along with Veronica and Mari in the older crowd gathered around the perimeters of the square. With a nod, he looked straight forward, waiting for the announcements as the clock struck two. 

The Mayor gave his same annual speech, retelling the story of Panem and the Hunger Games, proudly recalling previous winners from our District, and hoping that there would be many more to come. He finishes by welcoming this year's picker, Coran, to the stage.

A flamboyant man came along, bearing bright blue markings under his eyes with a matching tuxedo and an unflattering combination of salmon hair and moustache. He practically skipped up the steps, nonchalantly fixing his white cravat and sleeve cuffs before pulling out a small paper card from his pocket, leaning over the microphone, "Good afternoon, inhabitants of District 4!" His voice boomed over the speakers, a fancy accent thickly rolling on his tongue, "Welcome to the 74th Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

A small round of applause was reluctantly given from the crowd, but many kept their hands to their sides. Coran paid no mind, and continued to read from his speech, "This is a time for celebration, and a time for thanks. Now, ladies first, shall we?"

He walked up to the bowl on the right, lingering over the pieces of paper before grabbing a random one and opening the tiny envelope. The tension in the air was palpable, and every second dragged on like eternity. Coran licked his lips, looking over at the crowd as if searching for a poor girl this name could belong to.

"Allura Hime!"

Reticent murmuring erupted from the gathering. Lance felt his throat go dry. Allura was a District favourite, due to her leadership and sailing skills that lead to prosperous fishing summers for District 4 in the last few years - she was known as The Princess of the 4. Lance was half expecting someone, if not multiple people, to volunteer in her place. Sure enough, a girl tried stepping forward, but Allura stopped her by pushing her back with a sweep of her arm. The crowd was quiet as she went through the sea of people, giving them a reassuring look as she took her place next to Coran. 

This only proved that no one was saved from the Reaping. 

"And now, for the boys." Coran walked across the stage, microphone in hand as if he was a host in a nighttime talk show. He closed his eyes, and comically grasped the air a few times before picking another envelope, walking back to the microphone stand as he opened it. Lance bit his lip so hard he could suddenly feel the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. He looked back at Leo and Jake, who were at the end rows along with the other twelve year olds, and prayed to every possible entity that they wouldn't be picked.

They were too young. They did not deserve this. Veronica did not deserve th-

"Lance McClain!"

He snapped back to the stage, eyes widening in shock. There was a gasp from the rows of adults, and the small whimper of a child cut through the muted air like a knife, but he could not hear them. The rest of the world was non-existent, apart from the multicoloured clown holding the piece of paper with his name on his hand like a sick twist of fate. Only after a while, he realised they were expecting him to move. To do something. Anything.

Lance's name had never been picked for the Hunger Games. Not once, even though he had been eligible for six years now. Maybe it was for the best - he sure as hell wasn't complaining. 

But now somehow, as if fate knew of his uselessness, his name was picked out of thousands.

The crowd opened up a path, a few curious looks thrown at him. All of a sudden, it felt too hard to breathe - his lungs felt like heavy bags of sand, weighing his body down as he dragged his feet up the small steps, and stood next to Coran. Reality hit him like a slap to the face when he peered over thousands of familiar and unfamiliar faces that stared back at him in either confusion or sheer horror; he was going to die.

He exchanged glances with Allura, as if desperately asking for help. But he knew she couldn't do anything; he knew she was the same as him. However, his fearful gaze was not mirrored in her expression, and instead she looked back in fortitude.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Coran forcefully grabbed his wrist, and tugged at it to lift his arm up, "The tributes of District 4!" 

 


	2. The Capitol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance’s POV

Saying goodbye was the hardest part.

They were only allowed a few minutes, and about half of these are spent in complete silence, everyone too stunned to speak. The twins had cried until their tears were spent. Veronic seemed to be in a complete state of shock, drumming her fingers on the edge of the velvet chair she was sat on. Marco and Luis looked almost guilty.

"Stop looking like that." Lance said at last, "There was nothing you could've done."

"I could've done something. Anything." Luis muttered, averting his gaze.

Lance shook his head. The worst thing they could've done was try and defy the rules of the game. One wrong step towards a Peacemaker and they could've... they...

"I will be alright." He lied, because he couldn't admit defeat in front of the children. He kneeled in front of his nephews, smiling weakly as Jake wiped his snot using the sleeve of his shirt, "Now, you two be brave, and take care of your mother for me."

He made sure to remind them to stay in school, and to always follow the house rules. They should dust the cabin every Wednesday afternoon, and go to work with their other uncles every weekend, so they'll learn how to hunt the best kinds of fish. Deep down, Lance knew he wouldn't ever be able to teach them how to fish again, but he kept on a smile, ruffling their hair when Leo let out a particularly hard sob.

"Why are you crying?" He quipped, "You'll see! I'll win the games, and come back home in time for your birthday. How does that sound?" The twins both nodded. Lance threw a quick glance at the Peacemaker standing by the door, tapping his wrist, "Alright. Goodbye for now. Give me a hug, you two."

Lance might have hugged them a little bit too tight, but he wanted to make sure the goodbye was worth it. After he let them go, he sat up to embrace his own siblings. Luis wished him good luck while Marco kissed his temple. Veronica's bony palms smoothed the calluses on his back, and warm tears damped the fabric of his shirt.

 

-

 

"Alright, alright!" Coran chirped up, taking an unnecessarily loud sip of his drink, savouring it for a while before finally putting the golden teacup down. Lance and Allura had matching ones in front of them on the train's dining table, but they were not particularly hungry or thirsty at the moment. The man noticed their lack of appetite, and frowned, "Well, go on then! This afternoon tea was prepared specially for you two. Allura, dear, would you like a scone?"

Apparently, every single item of food, clothing or for leisure offered at the train were prepared specially for the both of them; not necessarily, of course, only to the unfortunate boy and girl who were going to be randomly picked from the Reaping. They each had their own rooms (with a shared bathroom), and articles of clothing brought directly from the Capitol. Nothing too fancy, Coran guaranteed, but Lance had spent a good five minutes feeling the silk on his shirt in awe. After a good shower (of which the water wasn't salty and cold, he noticed, as he washed himself), he dressed up in the garments provided and joined Allura and Coran for tea.

Allura, who Lance thought was trying her best to have an ounce of self control to not explode this entire train, smiled politely, "Thank you, Coran. But I'm not in the mood for a scone."

"But darling, a pretty girl like you is in much need to fatten up before the games! How will you survive in a hand to hand combat?"

"Coran, Coran!" A mysterious voice reprimanded from the quarters of the train, "Stop bothering the girl, will ya?"

The owner of said voice walked through the doors of the wagon; a tall man with strong build, wearing red trousers with a matching vest that did nothing to hide his chest, bearing many necklaces with different pendants. He had a collection of faded scars littered on his face, mostly on the corners of his cheekbones, chin, and two pairs on each side of his neck. His hair was long and disheveled, but he seemed unbothered by this, slowly walking to the nearest vacant chair on the breakfast table.

Lance recognised him. He was Blaytz, District 4's previous winner. He was a Capitol favourite, winning Panem's hearts by using his charisma and expansive combat skills to win the games.

Coran cleared his throat, and Lance swore he noticed his moustache twitching in annoyance, "Blaytz! What took you so long? You were supposed to be at the ceremony!"

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." He sighed happily as he made himself comfortable, eyeing the various options of food and drinks, "Now, if Allura doesn't mind, I'll take up your offer on that scone."

"You are here to advise the tributes, not to steal their food!" Coran scolded him, moving the platter of scones out of his reach.

Blaytz scoffed, turning to Lance with a frown, "Can you believe this guy?" he motioned at Coran, "As if you two need any advice from an old man like me. If you want, either of you can borrow my cane after you leave the arena all beaten up."

Lance chuckled at their bickering, ignoring the fact that Blaytz reminded both him and Allura that there could only be one victor to the games. If anything, his sense of humour was the only thing keeping him together on this train ride.

Allura, however, shifted uncomfortably on her chair, grasping a little too tightly at it's wooden armrests. Coran noticed her discomfort as well, offering her a sympathetic smile, but Blaytz was oblivious to it as he grabbed the strawberry jam and cream.

"So," He said in between chewing, "In all seriousness, I am here to be your advisor and mentor. Blah blah blah, all that crap." He stared at his scone for a few seconds, almost thoughtfully, "I'll take any questions, and help you in whatever I can." Finally, he finished in it one bite, looking back and forth between Lance and Allura expectantly.

"I did a bit of research, and I noticed you got a lot of sponsors during the games." Allura said at last, caving in to her cravings, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket and taking a bite, "I was wondering, how can we do that?"

Blaytz raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise, not expecting her bluntness. He soon masked his shock with a light hearted laugh, "Simple! You make people like you."

"And how exactly do we do that?" 

"Well, as you can clearly see, I am a beacon of great personal charm." He gesticulated at himself, and Allura was not impressed, "Lance here seems like a great guy. The sponsors at the Capitol have a passion for the underdog, specially one who's an utter goof!"

"Thank you!" Lance replied naively, before frowning in realisation, "Hey!"

The former tribute ignored his protests, "As for you, I heard rumours you were truly beloved by the people in our district. Isn't that so, Princess?"

She looked away, bashfully, "I don't like that nickname."

After finishing the meal, Coran advised them to gather up at the main compartment, where a plasma TV screened the recap of the Reaping across the 12 districts. This way, they could have at least a vague idea of what they might be dealing with during the actual competition. Strangers' faces are given names, and a few are actually worth remembering.

"That is Keith Kogane and Acxa." Coran explained as an angry man with a mullet from District 12, bearing a murderous expression, climbed up the stage along with a stoic woman, her hair tied back tight in a bun and twice his height.

Following them, a couple from District 11; Hunk and Shay. Blaytz mentioned that they were already fan favourites, so they had to be careful on making any rash decisions towards them that could affect their chances of getting sponsors. Hunk grasped Shay's hand on the screen, and held on tight, the crowd settling deep in respectful mourning silence. 

They moved up along the Districts, Blaytz commenting on whether these tributes were worth remembering or not. A pair from District 6 popped up, looking almost unbothered by the whole situation. Rolo and Nyma. The woman, presumably Nyma, cocked her hip to the side with a sly smirk, whereas Rolo nonchalantly waved to the crowd, bearing a regal poise, who boomed in a round of applause.

“And now, for one of our favorite moments during the reaping so far”The host, an Altean man carrying cue cards, seemingly unaffected by most heartfelt moments while enjoying the views and attention to his program, practically beamed at the spectators, “Takashi Shirogane, from District 3, volunteering as a tribute in the place of Matt Holt, promising to protect his sister during the games.”

Everyone perked up at the news. Volunteering was something that did not happen often. They watched the scene play out in front of them on the TV, and sure enough, a little girl named Katie was picked from the Reaping, the cameras not forgetting to capture the horror plastered on her family members' faces as she walked up the steps towards the stage. She looked tiny compared to the Altean standing next to her, fingers trembling as she wiped the tears off her face, but her brave and defiant stance did not falter when she gripped tight to the hems of her sleeves with an iron will. The Altean had the courtesy of letting the district have a few minutes of silence, as to digest their grief, before he moved on to the boy's bowl. Fishing out a name from the bottom, he pulled out a paper and mocked fake sympathy as he read out, "Matt Holt."

Soon enough, a man jolted to the cleared path, lifting up his hand, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

The crowd seemed stunned by the volunteering, and the camera seemed to have no family to capitalise of their grief. However, Matt Holt (unbelievably similar to his sister), grasped at his arm, mouthing a few silent words that made the man shake off his grip.

He looked out of place in the sea of palid faces, strong build and a military undercut, tanned skin in contrast with his white shirt and beige jeans. He certainly belonged to another district, and Lance wondered how the hell did he end up there. 

He followed Katie's course, practically jogging to the platform. It looked comical, despite the situation. No one was ever, ever that eager to join the Reaping stage.

"What is your name?"

"Takashi Shirogane."

"Very well."

He went to move away, to announce the winners like any other would, but Shirogane grasped at the microphone, "I will protect her, Matt. I promise."

 

They were taken away by the Peacemakers all too soon.

 

They proceeded with the other cerimonies, and after Lance and Allura had taken a good look at District 1's tributes, a girl with a long red ponytail called Ezor that seemed ready to kill and her gigantic partner with the same enthusiasm, the television was turned off, and Blaytz rubbed his hands excitedly, "Well, then, looks like we've got the best pick of the litter this year."

Lance's eyebrows went up, and he looked to Blaytz incredulously, "What do you mean? The guy from District 11 was huge!"

"Meh, total loser, looks like he has a heart too big for his own good." He waved his remark off, "What we really want to focus on is the most murderous tributes!"

"Mullet." Lance remembered him.

Allura frowned, "What about Takashi Shirogane? Surely, he has a bigger build than Keith, and a motive."

Lance eyed her, impressed. Allura was right. In fact, she seemed to be making her own tactics already, ready to take control of the situation and lead them to victory. He didn't want to be left behind, but at the same time, it felt like it would be impossible to catch up to her level of skilled battle planning. He had never done this before.

"He seems to be from another district." He offered, instead, ready to be useful.

Blaytz perked up, "Very observant, the both of you. Takashi Shirogane was from District 12. He was moved up."

"He doesn't look like he's from 12 either." Allura was baffled.

"Hell, he looks like he could belong to the 2."

They spent another hour or so talking about their fellow competitors, but were interrupted by Coran claiming it was nap time. Lance was filled with exhaustion, and didn't bother arguing against him like Allura and Blaytz did.

He made his way to his room in the other side, trying to make out their location through the windows of the train. It was too dark, however, and he could only see his reflection. His lanky build and tired eyes didn't do a great job at reassuring him that he had a shot at the arena, and he went to bed with pictures of the tributes running through his head. This, mixed with memories of his family's reactions to the Reaping, was enough to give him nightmares that kept him awake through the night.

 

-

 

They were eating their breakfast and discussing battle plans when Coran announced their arrival to the city. Surely enough, the view now was clear, even through the darkened glass on the sides of the train.

Lance whistled in amazement. The Capitol was even prettier in real life. The monocoloured, futuristic buildings differed in size, build and structures. There were some straight and made completely out of stained violet glass, reflecting the blue skies and sunlight, nearly blinding with the sheer beauty of it. Others, twisting around like waves, made of black metal and curling on the outside of other skyscrapers, shuttle like forms and other varying shapes. There were billboards, monuments, all filled with propaganda posters, announcing the games any way they could.

"Alright." He praised.

Allura didn't seem pleased with the design, however, "It's so purple."

"That's the Galra for you." Blaytz muttured.

"Purple represents power in the Capitol!" Coran exclaimed. Lance was pretty sure he heard that before, and Coran's eagerness seemed too mechanical, as if he was repeating a slogan. Maybe that was the motto around here, "Oh! It's going to be wonderful! I'm sure they already have wonderful garments for the both of you! The parade will be fantastic!"

When they reached the trail inside the Capitol, cameras were already on them from all sides, Galras from all around waved to them. Lance tried carrying himself with poise and grace, waving and bringing cheers from their audience. Allura did the same, tentatively, seeming to take Blaytz's advice all too seriously despite her disgust. Lance wished he could bask in the attention, and part of his ego really was inflated with the way the girls in the crowd were trying to touch his hand through the window. However, Allura's gloom all reminded him of his real purpose here - these people were expecting a blood bath.

The train brought them inside one of the buildings. When they got off, they barely had any time to breathe before Blaytz and Coran dragged them to the elevators, the Altean rambling about dress fittings and beauty salons.

Everything felt all too rushed after that. Lance vaguely remembers some Alteans measuring his hips as he walked towards where Coran was directing them to go, tightening the tape around them as tight as they could. They fitted blazers around his shoulders, took pictures, and notes, not even bothering to stop them along the way to do so. Apparently, they had no time to waste, and did their work quickly and efficiently before they finally reached what looked like an operation room. He grimaced, "Uh, are we getting a heart transplant before the arena?"

Coran laughed exaggeratedly loud at his joke, "No! You're getting a makeover! This is the Remake Center! You'll meet your stylist soon enough."

Sure enough, the workers were back on their track, laying Lance down in one of the tables before Allura was taken somewhere else. She finally seemed excited about the makeover as the assistants gushed over her hair. They started on his nails, painfully pushing back his cuticles until it stung, and he was told to close his eyes and relax. The beauticians commented on his skin, praising his complexions and debating on which makeup would look best. A few names were thrown around, supposedly their stylist's, and the design was heavily debated as they moved on to his hair.

After what seemed like hours, they were finally finished with his look. Lance was given a mirror, and admired their labour through the reflection. Sure, the makeup felt heavy on his face (he had never used any of these products in his life), but his skin looked fresh, his eyes popped open with the blue tints they added to his eyelids and to his lips. Lance remembered the colours from the boats back home, and it seemed like they actually did their research. These people knew what they were doing, despite the bizarre, vibrant colours they chose to wear.

They took him to a room nearby, where Allura was already waiting. Lance audibly gasped.

She looked like a true princess. Her blue eyes sparkled underneath thick eyelashes with the turquoise lines that framed them, and the artificial flush on her cheeks brought her dark skin to life, along with the intricate pink design that decorated her face. Her long hair was strapped to a bun, light curls falling on each side of her face and braids forming a faux-crown, and she looked absolutely ethereal.

"It was incredibly painful." She muttered.

Lance eyed the red tint on her arms, and the lack of hairs, "Must've been. You look beautiful." She lifted one eyebrow, "Not that you weren't before!" He quickly added, but Allura simply giggled.

It was the first time she looked at ease with this whole situation. This quickly disappeared as Coran announced they were supposed to meet a crowd full of Galras in an hour or so.

Fortunately, the process of dressing up seemed quicker than the makeover. Their stylist simply commented on her choice of style, and dressed them in their garments soon enough. Lance's was a suit with a gradient of white and blue, decorated with pearls in various places. Allura's had a similar design - a strapless dress with many layers that overlapped each other, looking like waves and sparkling like sea foam reflecting sunlight. They both wore crowns with blue jewellery and gold braces.

"Remember!" Blaytz elbowed them as soon as they were finished, "Make allies!"

They were put in another elevator that would bring them to the pavilion with their chariots.

Once they got out, Lance's plan was simple - ignore the familiar faces and do whatever he was here to do. He would have plenty of time to mingle in the arena.

This, however, was interrupted by an offering hand. It took him almost a minute to recognise the District 11's tribute, and his yellow toga. He was surprised by his behaviour, and he and Allura kept staring dumbfounded when he shook his hand.

"Hunk Garrett, District 11! So pleased to meet you." He shook Allura's hand as well, "I saw you on the TV!"

"Allura Hime." She replied politely, "We saw you too."

Lance remembered Blaytz's comment about Hunk. However, his behaviour exuded nothing but confidence. His big heart seemed to be an advantage, rather than a weakness, and Lance felt sorry for whoever tried to fight him.

He would definitely make a good ally.

"Lance McClain." He tried matching his enthusiasm, "So, District 11, huh?"

"Yeah, not as exciting as fishing!" He joked, leaning against his chariot. It was covered in harvest vegetables and leaves, "Had a chance to meet any other tributes yet?"

Lance tried to not tell Hunk that he was the only tribute trying to socialize in the midst of the situation. Most of the others were backed into their corners, apart from a few empty chariots which showed that a few tributes were not done with dressing up yet. He recognised Rolo and Nyma, who wore exuberant futuristic garments that resembled spaceships and hair decorations shaped like tiny moons and stars. Ezor and her partner, which now Lance remembered was Zethrid, wore luxurious red and purple gowns. Not many of the others they hadn't memorised for strategy brought their attention too much, but all the costumes were exaggerated and incredibly expensive.

He noticed Keith Kogane and Acxa right at the back, dressed in all black with red eyeliner, his mullet slicked back and her short hair braided in a crown with black sparkling pins. They were both wearing tight suits. Keith was further away from his partner and chariot, talking to a tall figure in purple and metallic silver.

 

Takashi Shirogane.

 

“Oh, yeah, you remember him too, huh?” Hunk nodded towards the two, who seemed disconnected from the rest in their own private conversation, “I talked to Shiro and Katie when they arrived. He’s so nice! Too nice for his own good! You think a guy his size would be threatening murder already at this point in the game right? Katie is someone to watch out for though.”

Lance eyed Hunk’s biceps pointedly, but the big guy still didn’t get the hint. He looked over to the chariot in front of them, and sure enough, Katie was sat on it already, trinketing with the machinery around it. She screamed District 3 with her round glasses and mischievous interest in technology.

They went back to the show. Keith placed a hand on Shirogane’s chest, who brushed it away with a frown before muttering something. The interactions between the two seemed incredibly intimate.

“Do they know each other?” Allura asked, watching the show as well.

“Oh! I mean, Shiro was from District 12 before, right? They’ve got history.”

Lance gulped. A trio composed of Takashi Shirogane along with Keith Kogane and Acxa seemed to have to competition in the arena.

A loud siren ringed around them, announcing it was time to get in the chariots. Hunk bid them goodbye, and Shirogane marched towards his chariot, giving them a nod as a greeting once he passed by them.

Lance climbed onto his seat, helping Allura with the steps as she threatened to fall on her high heels. They fixed themselves up, and waited until the chariots at the front would move so they could follow suite.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOO GUESS WHO’S BACK 
> 
> Chapter 3 will come soon enough! In the meantime, follow my twitter @yaknownyan!


	3. Keith and Shiro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith’s POV

He couldn’t believe it when he saw District 3’s reaping.

But there he was; amid all unfamiliar faces, Takashi Shirogane stood among them as eye-catching as a precious stone in the middle of rusted metal, bringing all eyes to him as he selflessly volunteered as a tribute for that poor girl’s brother. Keith had to leave the room after that, too anxious, heart palpitating and threatening to burst out of his chest. Acxa tried going after him, and he could hear Kolivan reprimanding his behaviour and telling him to come back to watch the rest of the cerimonies. But he was too restless to even try and pay attention to the other tributes.

He bounced his foot impatiently, leaning against their chariot while looking through the competition, hoping to find him. It was painful enough to spend hours in the Remaking Center, or whatever they called it, and getting all dolled up and prepared like a pig about to be sent to slaughter, but now he was too close to seeing him again.

“Keith.”

Ah, there you are.

He was the same. Well, apart from the high-tech silver and purple suit, which the design seemed too complicated for Keith to comprehend, and the shimmering makeup. They had also dyed his fringe white to match the outfit, but the deep brown, almost black, was recognisable to him anywhere.  

“Shiro.”

They hugged, and it was like all the broken pieces inside him, orbiting around aimlessly up until now, came together. He was whole again, though the cracks among the mosaic would take much longer to mend, and threatened to brake if he let go. But Shiro didn’t seem to mind the three extra seconds he spent clutching at the fabric covering his back.

“You grew.” He noticed, jokingly, “What are they feeding the kids in District 12 nowadays?”

“The same thing they did before you left.” Keith reminded him. It was almost surreal that they were meeting again like this.

But the circumstances were too hard to ignore, no matter how much they wanted to. Shiro’s smile settled into a small frown, as he finally took in Keith’s appearance and their surroundings, “You don’t deserve to be in this.”

“Neither do you.” And he wouldn’t, if he had not volunteered. But Keith didn’t mention the last part.

“I know you’ll fight with everything you have. You should.” Shiro placed his hand on his shoulder, and Keith focused on it’s weight. Grounding. Home. He sighed, “But I have a purpose here. I have to protect Katie.”

Keith sneered, “You think I would try to attack either of you?” 

“I should know better.” Shiro agreed. At least both of them know that Keith wouldn’t dare to harm either of them. The unspoken doubt of whether Shiro would kill Keith if it came to it was too soon to be mentioned, “Try your best nonetheless.”

Keith looked at Shiro, marvelling at his unchanged complexions, the same storm grey eyes and prominent nose he last saw many years ago. If he closed his eyes, leaning more towards the hand on his shoulder, it’s familiar shape and feel, he can imagine he was by the forests in District 12 again, hunting with Shiro and sweating the smell of coal away from the both of them as they ran after a squirrel with their makeshift weaponry. Best friends. Maybe something more in the depth of his heart and what he dared to imagine.  

“I will protect you.”

The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret them. Shiro’s eyes widened at the promise and what it carried with it, removing his hand quickly like it had been burnt. 

“Keith.” He warned.

“I mean it. I can fight everyone off of you. I need you to win this.”

Shiro shook his head, “Keith. I won’t win the Games anyway. Either Katie or you will.”

There it was. The answer. Shiro’s inner conflict as soon as he realised Keith was competing on the games with them. The promise he made to his best friend, or the life of his former one, the turmoil inside of him threatening to drive him mad. In a certain way, it did; Shiro was planning to die in any scenario.

Keith wasn’t having any of that.

“You’ll win this.” He placed his hand on Shiro’s chest, “You have to.”

He moved it away, rejecting Keith’s undoubted devotion, “Keith. You have to fight for yourself.”

 

There was a loud siren announcing the end of their interactions before the cerimonie. Shiro hugged him one last time before walking away to his chariot, and Keith was left alone again. 

He climbed his own with Acxa, and she stared at him worryingly. Keith ignored it, facing forward instead. 

Their chariot was at the end, as their District was the very last one. The mere minutes it took so all the chariots could start moving seemed torturous, but they managed to wait patiently until their black horses galloped across the cemented path. Acxa moved to grasp his hand, which he accepted unwillingly by Kolivan’s orders. The crowd boomed with their appearance, thousands, maybe millions of them surrounding the main pavilion as they strutted their way through. There were cameras everywhere, drones flying around them as to capture the very best of their outfits. Keith didn’t bother on a fake smile, but waved at them as the announcer commented on the simplicity yet minimalistic beauty of their suits. As soon as they sparkled with purple lights, as they were told by their stylist they would, the crowd exploded into surprised gasps and applauds. Their target audience seemed pleased by the reference to their emperor’s designated colour.

They parked around the main stage along with the others, and a platform above them held up Emperor Zarkon and his generals. When they stopped moving, he wasted no time in beginning his speech, sitting up from his throne and moving towards the microphone, all cameras on him and every gigantic screen around the arena projecting his appearance.

“Many years ago,” His voice carried a deep, monotone pitch to it that sent shivers down Keith’s spine, “We, the superior nation, brought down an end to the era of the Altean Empire, and King Alfor’s villainous reign.”

Keith remembers the story from the school days, sitting on his desk and playing with the paint chipping away from his wooden desk as their History teacher rambled about what they called the Revolution. The war between the Altean and Galran governments. The victory brought by Zarkon and how he leads Panem to this day. The crowd cheered, but stopped at once with a flick of Zarkon’s wrist.

“To celebrate, and remember the cause of the revolution,” Zarkon continued, “We are pleased to announce the annual ceremony of The Hunger Games, and it’s 74th edition. More promising than last year, with a fantastic set of new tributes.” He smiled, yet nothing seemed inviting about the way his lips curved menacingly, “Remember why we’re here. Remember your emperor. Vrepit Sa!”

The Galras cheered back their own sets of Vrepit Sa’s in unceasing celebratory chants as their emperor sat back on his throne. Keith swore he noticed him eyeing District 3’s chariot, but maybe his own mind was playing tricks on him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of insight to Keith and Shiro’s backstory.


End file.
